Page 176 of Harley & Her Ferals

Feral nodded, relieved.

Feral has also insisted on pushing the couch and armchair back to the edges of the room after breakfast each morning.

Then Laurent and River have enjoyed sitting together on the bed and being our audience, as Feral and I have sparred.

More often than not, the sparring has ended with either Feral or me allowing the other to pin each other down, before Feral would fuck me wildly, also for the benefit of our audience.

My favorite position, I’ve discovered, is riding Feral because then I can watch the flushed faces of the two men on the bed, who Feral has forbidden to touch each other or themselves.

Then I can see how desperate the Beta and Omega are to come, while I’m driven to an orgasm that has me seeing stars.

Laurent has run me a bath each evening in the luxurious marble bathroom. He’s added rose oils and petals. He’s stripped me, before himself.

Then we’ve bathed together in silence.

I rest against Laurent’s chest, as he nuzzles me and purrs. His fingers feel incredible on my scalp, while he washes my hair.

I’ve never felt this looked after before.

Yesterday, I turned to kiss Laurent, and we made tender love in the water.

It was different to how we’d fucked during the heat. In fact, different to any other time that I’ve fucked any of my men.

I felt like our souls were touching each other, as we were surrounded by the rose scents, the heat, and the slide of each other’s bodies in the bath.

Both our walls tumbled down, as we locked gazes.

Laurent’s gray eyes will be forever burned into my heart.

I smile, remembering how Feral and River looked up, as Laurent and I emerged with a single towel wrapped around us. We were drying each other and laughing.

Something had shifted between us. It was impossible to miss.

Now, in the bed, River’s brow creases.

He stiffens. His breath catches, and his jaw clenches.

I stroke my hand through River’s hair, attempting to hush him. “You’re okay.”

River tosses his head, flailing his hands.

Alarmed, I hold tightly onto him.

What’s wrong?

Is this a nightmare?

Sweat is beading on River’s forehead.

He looks fucking terrified.

“Riv,” I whisper, trying to soothe him. “I’m here.”

Is it the right thing to wake him? Or will it startle him more to be woken up suddenly?

“Mamma!” River’s voice sounds young like he’s a kid. My blood turns to ice in my veins. I have a terrible feeling that I know the exact moment that this bad dream has him trapped in. “Papi!”

“Riv,” I shake him urgently by his shoulder.

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